


Carapace

by RocketOwl



Series: Into the Forests [7]
Category: Strange Magic (2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocketOwl/pseuds/RocketOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was all rough hide and she was steel under silk. Still, they make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carapace

**Author's Note:**

> wow would you look at that. first smut i ever posted publicly. nice, nice.  
> (im not saying it's /good/ smut)

 Fighting, for them, was almost foreplay. Never so much as during the Height of Spring.

 

They could both taste it, he knew. She smelled so sweet, her skin flushed and her eyes bright. It showed in her lingering touches, the way she kept staring at him as they danced around each other.

 

Today was a sparring day. Their blood was high, so it was as good a time as any for it. For the rush, the adrenaline. For watching his beloved spin and whirl and leap, all whip-like flexibility and flashing wings and steely discipline.

 

She fought so _fiercely_ for a fairy.

 

The pheromones had him panting as much as the sparring itself, but he exercised restraint – tried to. Until she threw her sword to the side and dove at him, forcing him to the dusty ground of the training room.

 

The fairy was upon him instantly, so close, lips parted as she stared down at him with such intensity – sucking in air between her teeth, and he knew she was feeling what he was, the heat that suffused . Her wings were painted amber in the lamplight and they dazzled – and then she was kissing him with bruising force, hands clasped around his head.

 

His wings rattled against the floor and he slid his hands up her thighs, under the layers of her shirts until he touched bare, sweaty skin. She huffed sharply and ground her hips against his -

 

“Want this-” Her fingers danced over the scales of his scalp, digging into his armored shoulders. “Want _you_. _Now_.”

 

\- and he growled, arching back up against her as the tension grew almost unbearable between them. Yes, yes- this, _exactly this_. Her wings fluttered -involuntarily, he thought- gusting dirt away. It did little to cool him, not with her muttering into his ear, not with her clinging and trying to yank off his armor as though-

 

A knock at the door startled them both, and the Bog King's voice was rough, almost guttural with his frustration. “ _What is it?_ ” _His_ mate, _his_ queen, _none other_ should come near-

 

“Some of the guard wish to use the training room, sire.” Came Stuff's voice from the other side of the wood. “Shall I send them away?”

 

Bog snarled softly and let his head fall back against the ground, and Marianne snickered at him. In an instant he rolled them over, gathering her up into his arms and throwing her over one shoulder. She squawked, loudly, and he felt a smirk tug at his lips.

 

“Let them come. The room will be cleared in a minute.” He called back, kicking first her sword, then his staff up into his free hand. There was little he could do about the sweet scents hanging in the air, but at least they wouldn't be _interrupted_ in his quarters.

 

The moment the doors of his chambers closed he felt a finger tracing his spine, reigniting the fire in his belly and making him shiver. Instantly he dropped Marianne to his bed of moss, advancing upon her with a wicked grin.

 

“Do ye still-?”

 

“ _Yes_ , damn you.” Her eyes were narrowed as she looked up at him, panting open-mouthed. “ _Now_.”

 

Marianne's hand shot out and she continued pulling at his armor, yanking the overlapping pieces off his torso. He in turn worked her shirt up, clumsily, bending his head to kiss and nip at her belly as it was exposed – felt her gasp and squirm under his touch, twisting and tossing her clothing over the edge of the bed. So much skin left open to him – he couldn't resist marking every bit of it within his reach with his teeth, thoroughly enjoying the way his beloved began to writhe. Felt her lock her legs around his hips and pulled him closer, filling the room with her sweet voice when he rocked against her.

 

“You smell so _good_ ,” She mumbled, letting her head rest back against the moss when he rolled his hips again. Her eyes opened to slits and peered down at him as she grinned, shifted around again, this time to remove her tights. He shuffled back to help her, hooking his fingers into the material and sliding it down her legs, kissing her calves as they were stripped. Once removed he tossed the scraps of cloth down to join the shirt and he paused, openly admiring her.

 

Wings spread out against the bed, hair mussed, skin flushed and covered with little bruises – his doing – the redness of her cheeks. The hazy, but piercing look she was giving him from half-lidded eyes. The plates on his back rattled as he exhaled, smiling down at her.

 

“Come to me, Bog...” Her words were a whisper, but an order as well.

 

And she was his queen, his fierce, tough girl. He obeyed, happily, moving up against her to catch her mouth with his own, swallowing her moans and relishing the way her hands clutched at his back, then down to what was left of his armor. It took only another moment before he was as bare as she – nothing but heated skin and carapace against each other.

 

Her name escaped on a breath when he slid into her, her scent filling his nose, her sounds in his ears. She was all soft skin with steel underneath, and he rough carapace; the hard parts of his plates and chitin dug in relentlessly, but she did not seem to mind. Instead her body welcomed him – demanded its tithe as the season called for.

 

They lay claim to each other – her nails down his spine making his wings flutter, his bites on her neck making her hiss. She was so different – so unlike any of his previous affections. But she gave him as good as she got, growling commands to him – _harder, Bog, harder_ – leaving him breathless – his beloved, his _queen_ – and he belonged to her just as much, was her king, her lover. _None other_.

 

Marianne laughed lightly in his ear, praising, so alive and wild - “Fuck, _almost_ ,” - and he paid his tribute to her, to the Height of Spring. Sent her spiraling with him, her wings curling up around them both, his teeth bared against her bones and skin as her body accepted its due.

 

His head fell to rest against her shoulder, tasting her sweat, inhaling deeply. Her fingers slid down his back, much more gently now, and he sighed softly as the heat faded from them both. Nothing but their mingled scents and slowing breaths now, nothing but the touch of her hands and her heartbeat against his carapace and _her_ , just her, sprawled out languidly below him.

 

Morning light filtered in through the windows and woke him, shone on his handiwork. Marianne was already up, watching him, smiling, her hair glowing like gold fire in the sun. Her skin was marked and bruised, and his fingers trailed over one particularly spectacular bite on her neck. Her own small hands were tracing the scratches she'd left in his back, his sides. Marks given and taken, freely, shared between them.

 

“We need to spar like that more often.” Her tone was sly, eyes sparkling, and he laughed and kissed her gently.

 

Anything, anything for her.


End file.
